


corners of the evening

by cishet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Jokes, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cishet/pseuds/cishet
Summary: You think, not for the first time, that Byleth must be some goddess incarnate or else a demon sent to torment you specifically, that the writing in the stars must have already spelled out your inevitable immolation through sheer embarrassment.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 25
Kudos: 246





	corners of the evening

**Author's Note:**

> this is silly and stupid and inconsequential and it exists bc 1) some friends wanted it, and 2) i'm allowed to write stupid things without worrying about them being Objectively Good!

You hum appreciatively as Byleth’s lips leave your neck and she slides her way down your body with a practised ease. Her fingers deftly work open the buttons of your pyjama shirt to make way for her tongue to a familiar path across your collarbone, over sternum, down. You push into the teasing sensation, the arch to your back moving down to your hips like the rolling crest of a wave as Byleth settles between your legs, kissing softly down between your breasts.

Neither of you are predictable lovers—let it not be said that your sex life is _boring_ —but there is a languid ease in the balmy air tonight, even the ofttimes chaotic din of the city beyond your walls wound down to a low thrum. The amber sunset coming through the linen curtains drips over your sheets and skin like honey, and you are content to simply lie back and enjoy this particular song you know so well—the rhythm of kisses inching down your abdomen, curving over hip, melody of hands sliding off your pants and panties at once in a fluid movement and rubbing warmly on your inner thighs as Byleth’s mouth travels down, down, down. You stretch yourself out on the bed, anticipating.

However, as disinclined as you are towards physical exertion in this moment, embraced in the long arms of a summer evening, it seems that your girlfriend is even less so. She nuzzles your stomach softly and sighs, lingers, curling into you with cheek and forehead rubbing lazily on your belly like a cat. You’re sensitive enough for the motion to be soothing—pleasurable, even—but it’s also completely lacking in any kind of urgency whatsoever. There’s no sign that Byleth is going to be moving from that spot any time soon, or indeed within the next century.

“Sweetheart,” you say, threading your fingers through her hair, “not to rush you, but…”

“Hmm?” she hums absently, as though in a trance. “Oh, sorry, I got a bit distracted. Your skin is just so soft.” She drops a kiss to your belly button, and you catch the fond warmth in her eyes at the soft gasp you let out. “So beautiful.” Another kiss.

You meet her gaze firmly and try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. While you love her, have always loved her for her straightforward sincerity, you never quite got used to being on the receiving end of that unadulterated affection. Byleth doesn’t flirt with coy teases and gestures, only ever says exactly what she means in a way that leaves people feeling stripped and exposed. You’ve never known anyone to live so far removed from the concepts of _embarrassment_ or _shame._

“Well, I did moisturise earlier.” Through some effort, you manage to keep your voice level.

“Ah, that would be it.” Byleth breathes in deeply through her nose and sighs contentedly. The movement of air directly on your delicate skin makes you shiver slightly from the base of your spine. “The coconut one Dorothea gave you? Remind me to thank her for it. You smell good, I could almost eat you up.”

Her candour is blinding and you can’t bear to look directly at her. How can any mortal being say those words without even a hint of irony? You think, not for the first time, that Byleth must be some goddess incarnate or else a demon sent to torment you specifically, that the writing in the stars must have already spelled out your inevitable immolation through sheer embarrassment.

You groan and try to tame the burning flush in your cheeks, turning away and shutting your eyes. A mistake—that’s how you miss the warning in the mischievous glint of Byleth’s eyes, the quirk to her brow that always signals either amusement or exasperation for you.

She begins to pepper kisses onto every inch of your belly, over your ribs, along your sides—rapid, fluttering pecks, as light as the brush of her eyelashes. And you don’t usually curse being so sensitive, not when Byleth whispers praise into your ear with nails skating lightly down your back, but when the sensation is so fast, so infuriatingly insubstantial, you can’t help it—you squirm away from her touch, bursting into giggles. “Stop, stop it, slow down, that _tickles_ —”

She lifts, pauses, and looks at you in dazed wonder. After a moment she kisses you again, even lighter, and it makes you thrash, involuntary laughter bubbling up in your throat.

“By—!” you gasp. “I _mean it_. You know I’m sensitive. Don’t tease me. Not like that.”

“I know, I know. I just can’t help it. I love you. I love your laugh. I love seeing, hearing how you’re so responsive. How I can do so much to you with so little.” She tilts her head and smiles, and there’s that crinkle of fondness in her eyes again. “It’s cute. You’re cute, El. You can’t blame me for wanting to do everything to you.”

You sigh, defeated. Your skills in court could see justice served upon anyone deserving, but there is no point in fighting honest affection. “Just. Please, don’t do it again.”

Byleth settles her hands on your hips in a comfortable hold, firm enough not to tickle, and you relax into her steady touch. She gazes at you in open adoration, and you don’t make the mistake again of looking away. Your eyes lock as she lowers her lips back to your skin slowly, deliberately, telegraphing her movements as she—

_*pfffbbtt*_

As she blows a raspberry right where you’re most vulnerable. You squeal and recoil immediately. Betrayed. You trusted her, bared yourself to her, and she _betrayed you_. Betrayed by your own love, the light of your life. The soft, lazy mood of the evening is well and truly shattered, irreparably.

_“Byleth,”_ you say after you catch your breath, low and deadpan. “That’s it. Out.”

In a moment the amusement melts off her face as she recognises that voice and what it means. “Wait, El,” she blurts, “I didn’t mean— I just wanted to—”

“And so? I told you not to do that again, and you did it anyway. Now you get to live with the consequences.”

“I can’t sleep on the couch. It’s covered in cat hair.” She pouts, and you turn away from her immediately before she can pin you with her pleading eyes.

Opening up one of the storage drawers under the bed, you pull out a spare throw blanket and toss it at her. “Too bad. Should have thought about that before you decided to _violate my body and my trust_. I’ll see you in the morning, love.” And you push her out of the bedroom. She goes without further protest, having accepted her fate.

The door clicks, and you sigh. Although you don’t regret putting your foot down like that, seeing her despondent like that always twists your gut afterwards, even if you know you’ll both be over it by tomorrow morning.

The glow of the sunset has finally started to fade away. You reach for your reading glasses and flick on a lamp. With your previous plans for the night dashed, you could at least spend some time in the company of a book.

Unfortunately, you only ever keep a select few books by your bedside at any one time, with the rest stored neatly on the bookshelf in the living room. With the couch. Where Byleth is. The baking cookbook you bought last week isn’t of particular interest unless you’re reading it with Byleth, and you aren’t in the mood to look over the manuscript of one of Bernadetta’s epic torrid romances right now. That just leaves… the latest of Linhardt’s bizarre and insistent recommendations.

You’re nestling back into the pillows, preparing your brain to process a book on the metaphysical nature of cryptids or something or other, when you’re startled by Dorothea’s voice.

_Message for you, Edie!_

Damn. That’s right. She changed your phone’s notification tone as part of a drunken dare last Saturday. (While you don’t remember the specifics of that night, you were informed that you weren’t to change it back for at least a week. And you’re nothing if not a woman of your word.)

You know who the message is from before you even pick up your phone.

**i miss you ☹️**

**It’s been five minutes, Byleth.**

**5min too long ☹️☹️**

**please let me in i miss you**

**You’ll survive.**

**noooooo dont make me sleep on the couch your so sexy aha**

**Did Sylvain teach you that one.**

**yeah 🙂**

While you would never try to control who Byleth is friends with or chooses to talk to, you make a mental note to tell Sylvain to _stop teaching your girlfriend dumb shit._

**If you’re trying to convince me, that’s not a terribly moving argument.**

**but you are sexy ☹️**

**Thank you, love. So are you. I’m still not opening the door.**

**☹️☹️☹️☹️**

**if i sleep on the couch the cat is gonna sit on my face**

**Again, not a great argument.**

**its the wrong pussy**

**want you to sit on my face instead ☹️**

**Please stop taking relationship advice from Sylvain.**

**Any kind of advice at all, actually.**

**no he didnt tell me to say that one**

**also i meant it**

It takes a truly prodigious amount of effort to retrain the strangled noise that nearly escapes your throat. The worst part about Byleth, possibly, is that she doesn’t even recognise how dangerous she is for your health.

**You’re ridiculous. I’m putting down my phone now. Good night, Byleth.**

You place the phone on the bedside table and get back to your attempts to decipher whatever utterly impenetrable reading material Linhardt has pushed your way this time. While your own intelligence is far from rudimentary, his passions tend towards esoteric sciences which don’t exactly overlap with your field of work. Still, while he certainly doesn’t expect any of you to comprehend his ramblings, you like to keep up with your friend’s interests as best you can.

You get about halfway through the first page before Dorothea’s chipper presence returns to your room.

_Message for you, Edie!_

_Message-_

_Mess-_

_Message fo-_

_Messa-_

_Messa-_

_Message for you-_

_Message for you, Edie!_

_Message for you, Edie!_

Unable to stand the spam of notifications anymore, you finally pick up your phone to read what Byleth has to say.

**please el let me back in ill do whatever you want**

**please el**

**babe**

**baby**

**sweetie**

**angel**

**honey**

**princess**

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

As you read, new messages continue popping up, flooding your screen with the same emoji.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺

You immediately picture Byleth’s pout, her glistening eyes and wavering chin, and the image is so endearing you can’t help but laugh. Then you hear the little chuckle in return coming from just outside the door. This ridiculous woman will surely be the end of you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The moment you twist the doorknob to let her back in, the door swings open with a weight as, from where she was sitting leaning against the door, Byleth comes falling backwards into the room. It’s only your strength that prevents you both from tumbling to the ground.

Byleth looks up at you, her gaze no less adoring than before, the knitted throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders over her striped pyjamas. While you don’t call her _cute_ with nearly the same frequency she does for you, that doesn’t mean you feel the sentiment with any less fervour.

“Nice to see you, El,” she says, grinning. “I just wanted to hear you laugh again. Earlier. I’m glad I got to.”

You shake your head a little, but you can’t suppress the smile on your face. “I know, sweetheart. But _please_ don’t do that again, at least not during sex. There’s other ways to make me laugh, you know.”

She nods seriously, then tilts her head. “Like sending you emojis.”

Another laugh bubbles out of you, unbidden, and Byleth beams. “Yes, like the emojis. Don’t do that during sex either though, please.”

“No? What are these other ways, then?” She reaches up to caress your exposed stomach—you’d neglected to re-button your clothes earlier. “I said I’d do whatever you wanted, but you need to tell me.”

You move back a half-step and button up your shirt. “No, not now. Sorry, but the mood is gone. I don’t think I can trust your mouth on me again tonight.” Before she can look too crestfallen, you take hold of her hand and guide her to stand, moving towards the bed. “Would you like to know what I do want, though?”

“What is it?”

“I want us to look through that new cookbook together,” you say, picking it off the bedside table, “and I want to choose what we’re baking this weekend.”

There is a moment’s pause before Byleth throws herself onto the bed, making you squeak as she pulls you down atop her. You laugh when she wraps her arms around your shoulders and dusts light kisses onto your nose, your cheek, your brow.

“Of course,” she says, letting you feel her smile against your forehead. The pulse of the city is a thousand miles away and your heart is so, so light. “You don’t even need to ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> if 2nd person pov sends you rocketing back to Memories Of Homestuck i just want you to know that you are valid, you are seen, and you are not alone 😔✊
> 
> in case all those emojis don't load for you for whatever reason: its some frowny faces, one smiley face, and a whole lot of pleading faces
> 
> find me on twitter @butchidols churning out increasingly incoherent edelgard shitposts


End file.
